Reno: Odds makers and Weather Forecasters

This brief foray into Nevada - - included in my itinerary almost as an afterthought - - may be memorable to some degree as a bit of a gamble.

Weather reports from a week ago indicated that I would be taking a chance by attempting to cross the Donner Pass without snow tires or chains. And, as it turned out, I was fortunate to make my way over between snowstorms.

Snow has been the dominant topic of discussion and concern ever since. Yesterday, an increasing and steady snowfall continued into the night, blanketing everything under two or three inches of the white stuff.

But the morning brought blue skies; and the melting process has revealed large patches of brown linked by black streets and white sidewalks.

Two questions remain: What’s happening in the mountains between here and Redding? What does Mother Nature have in store for me during the next 48 hours?

Regardless of the outcome, I believe I’ve already beaten the odds and am in a win-win situation. There are few sights that compare with fresh snow on a clear, brisk morning and today I had the chance to drink in such a sight.

Today before breakfast, I enjoyed the crunch of snow and thin ice under foot and the wonderful contrast between a clear blue sky and snow that not only coats horizontal surfaces but clings to the branches of trees and becomes lodged in every conceivable nook and cranny created by nature or humans.

For some reason, I feel more alive on a day like today. I’m not sure what that means; but it’s a sensation I first identified in those terms in the winter of 1967 when I lived in San Luis, Colorado.

That year, I walked to the post office each morning and never tired of stepping into depressions that had been puddles the day before but were now crowned by thin layers of ice that shattered pleasantly beneath my boots.

Most mornings were much cooler than today; one didn’t dare breathe deeply because the frigid air caused pain when forced too far into the lungs.

But nothing can improve upon that wonderful combination of clear, blue (unpolluted) skies and fresh, clean, whiter-than-white snow. It must have been on a morning like this that someone decided that the ultimate in pristine-ness could be summed up as being “pure as the freshly driven snow.”

I’ve been kept away from the historical and cultural wonders of Northern Nevada this week by the natural wonders created by the angle of the earth and by the luck of the meterological draw.

A few days ago I wondered whether I might have left Merced a month too soon. But then I might have missed this glorious day – and the excitement I’ll enjoy wondering what the odds are that I’ll find clear and open roads for my journey back into California.

More than 2,000 years ago, Julius Caesar stood with his legions on the banks of the Rubicon. He turned to his soldiers and announced, “the die is cast.”

My little foray back over the Sierra Mountains is insignificant by comparison. But my fate on Thursday - - just like on every other day - - depends, in a large part, on luck.

I’ll see you in Redding.